Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“Can you believe this girl?” Mrs. Kahn says to Caleb. “She can’t handle not being the center of attention for two seconds.”
I hadn’t realized I was grinding my teeth until Caleb whispers in my ear to relax.
“Bubby,” he says sternly. “What did Marna say about Ashira?”
She sighs, clearly put out from having to stay on task. “Marna said that someone saw a man follow you into your house late one Friday night and that he was there for about half an hour, and then he left—”
“What?” I shake my head. “That is absolutely the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Never in my life have I invited a man into my house late on a Friday night—”
“Or,” Caleb cuts in, giving me a pointed look, “did you once insist on a man coming into your house late at night so you could interrogate him on what he was looking for in a wife? Even though he was concerned that this situation might be misinterpreted if someone were to see it?”
“Oh.” Well, shit. My shoulders slump and I frown. “Yeah, that might’ve happened. But it was only once,” I add, steeling my voice. “And whoever saw us has—”
“Us?” Miri says. I whip around and see that Miri and Jack have joined us too. “Do you mean . . .” She trails off and waves her finger between Caleb and me.
I nod. “It was that night we ate at Leah’s house and Caleb stayed behind to walk me home.”
“Is that all he did?” Zevi says. He narrows his eyes at Caleb, as though he’s considering trying out some boxing moves on him.
“Zevi.” Caleb puts his hands on his hips. “Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I knew it,” his grandmother says. “I had a feeling this was going to happen. You’ve gone and gotten the wench pregnant, haven’t you?” she says to Caleb, gesturing at me.
Everyone’s eyes swivel to my stomach, including mine.
“Now I’m not saying that you need to get rid of it,” Mrs. Kahn continues with a sigh.
“But I will say that I’m too old to help raise anybody’s child at this point in my life.
” She turns to Caleb and adds, “Had you chosen the atheist doctor instead, well . . .” She lifts the palm that isn’t grasping her cane.
“Who knows? But it’s too late now, isn’t it? ”
“All right, Ma,” Caleb’s father says after his wife whispers something to him. He comes down the stairs and hooks his arm around his mother’s. “Time for a nap.”
“I don’t need a nap, I just woke up from one,” she grumbles. “Why is everybody always trying to get me to nap anyway?”
“I’ll bring you a nice hot cocoa—”
“That stuff always puts me to sleep!”
“A drop of Benadryl,” Caleb’s mother whispers to our questioning faces. “It’s harmless.”
“I was in the middle of an important conversation in case you hadn’t noticed,” Mrs. Kahn says to her son.
“How about I’ll bring you one of those romance books you love with the naked men on the cover,” Caleb’s father says.
A long pause follows. “Get me the one with the sexy pirate. He’s got an eye patch and an earring in his pupik.”
He winces. “Yes, Mother.”
“Ash,” Zevi says, after they left. His eyes peer into mine. “I’m going to ask you this once and I want the truth—did Caleb take advantage of you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” I start to sweat. If my own brother doesn’t believe me, then who will? “I’m not even his type,” I add in exasperation.
“What are you talking about? You’re exactly his type.” Zevi waves his finger accusingly at Caleb. “Every girlfriend he’s ever had looks just like you.”
Caleb’s jaw drops, and he gazes at his friend in shock.
“No . . .” I shake my head. “That can’t be true. He told me he’s attracted to the opposite of—”
“Are we in counting time?” Caleb cuts in sharply.
The eighteen-minute period before sunset is the most stressful of all because it’s your last chance to do any last-minute fixes, while also needing to keep an eye on the clock because if you go over time, then you’ve lost your chance to light candles.
Jack, the Catholic in the room, nods. “You have three minutes left.”
“Thanks for not telling us earlier,” Sissel exclaims, running past him.
“It’s not my job to babysit grown women,” Jack shouts back.
It doesn’t take long for Caleb to convince Zevi that the very idea of the two of us together is utterly ridiculous, and I feel slightly miffed that Zevi and the others agree so rapidly.
It isn’t that preposterous! Especially if it’s true that Caleb’s girlfriends looked like me—but then why did he tell me that he’s attracted to the opposite?
Did the brunettes reject him? I highly doubt that.
Meanwhile, everyone else mistakes my quiet for depression over the gossip about me being exchanged in the senior citizen cafeteria on Ocean Parkway.
Which although is sad, doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that everyone thinks Caleb and I being a couple is absurd.
Everybody except for Miri and Sissel perhaps, who exchange a few knowing glances.
The meal is lovely, full of delicious food, and lively conversation.
Caleb’s mother told us how in the villages of Ethiopia, they knew Shabbat was starting when a man’s shadow measured twelve paces under the setting sun, and how their synagogue was a grass hut with a star of David on top.
Instead of rabbis, they had priests called kessim.
And when Jack asked her for more details about her childhood, she recounted how she’d walked hundreds of miles to Sudan at the age of twelve with her baby brother on her back to escape famine and persecution from the government, and the shock she felt at seeing pale-skinned Jews after she arrived in Israel.
She said it was also there that she first heard about the story of Chanukah since her tribe had been expelled before the destruction of the second Temple.
Even though Caleb and I are on opposite ends of the table, I feel his gaze on me often, and I give him a reassuring smile in response to let him know that I’m fine.
At one point, merely to show how unaffected and overall cool I am, I even offer to check on his grandmother and see if she wants dessert, but so many people interject that I quickly sit back down.
After the meal, everyone gathers in the den to play cards or read, but I say goodnight and slip upstairs, claiming fatigue.
There’s too much on my mind and I need to be alone to sort it out.
Except it turns out that I can’t make sense of my feelings at all, and I end up tossing and turning for most of the night.
* * *
“Doing okay?” Jack asks me the following morning at breakfast.
“Yes.” I force myself to smile, determined to stay positive. “Obviously, it’s not ideal that I’m facing allegations of running a brothel, but things could be worse.” I nod. “At least I didn’t die in my sleep last night.”
“That’s some Jewish positivity right there,” Sissel remarks as she pours milk into a bowl of cereal.
“Oh, Ash.” Jack sighs.
“I’m doing great. Really,” I say, and gesture around the room.
“I’m warm and fed, and my heart is in peak condition.
And hey, if it does come down to me running a brothel one day, Mrs. Schwartz has already done the PR work for me.
” I pour myself a cup of coffee. “It’s one way to make introductions, right?
” I laugh, lifting my head to gaze at Jack and Sissel. “Better profit margins, too.”
“She’s so far gone, it’s like she doesn’t even know it,” Sissel remarks.
“Maybe you should see someone?” Jack says cautiously, eying me over the rim of his mug.
My eyebrows slant downwards as I take a seat. “What kind of someone?”
“A psychotherapist,” Sissel answers.
I bark in laughter, but then slump in my seat and sigh. “Yeah. I probably should.”
“If you haven’t had therapy, have you even lived?” Jack jokes, clearly trying to make me feel better.
“I’ve lived my entire life without needing therapy,” Sissel says, chewing with her mouth open. “And I’m doing great.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Jack murmurs under his breath.
Sissel points her spoon at him, dripping milk onto the table. “I heard that.”
“How’s it going with Caleb?” Jack says, turning to me. “You guys seem to be getting along a lot better these days.”
“Yes, we are.” Why does the very mention of his name make my pulse speed up?
Jack nods. “And he’s cooperating nicely about the blind dates?”
“Yes. Although I think I do need to coach him on talking to women. It’s a skill that he doesn’t have in his toolbox. Yet,” I add. “It’s something I plan to work on him with before I release him back into the wild.”
“Like the injured beast he is,” Sissel says.
“Er,” I scratch my head, “I guess.”
“I actually feel bad for him,” Sissel says. “He obviously hates dating.”
“Everyone hates dating.” I shake my head.
“It’s the most miserable, soul-eating, time-sucking, nausea-inducing thing you can do.
It’s worse than being operated on without anesthesia or getting a root canal or being bodychecked on ice or stubbing your baby toe.
It’s Dante’s ninth circle of hell. It’s being chased by the undead. ”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Jack says, “I’d work on that elevator pitch if I were you.”
“How would you even know?” Sissel says to me. “It’s not like you date.”
“I went on some, back when my mother was still alive, to make her happy. I just mean that it’s rough until you find your special someone, of course,” I add, seeing their faces. “And then you live happily ever after.”
“Actually,” Sissel says, peeling a banana, “roughly forty-five percent of marriages end in divorce. And sometimes the couples who don’t divorce only stay together for money or convenience. Statistics show that single cat ladies are the happiest people.”
“Do me a favor,” I tell Sissel, “and never speak of this again.”
“Which part?”
“All of it,” I say emphatically.
Jack snaps his fingers and gazes at me with excitement. “You know what you need?”
“A hitman for Mrs. Schwartz?” I say.
“No, a hit show. Like Netflix’s The Jewish Matchmaker with Aleeza Ben Shalom.”
“Sadly, that already exists.”